


Honeymoon

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: RP-verse [8]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Bubble Bath, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: While on shore leave, York and Carolina unwind in their hotel room with a bottle of champagne.





	Honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

> For more context/earlier scenes in the actual Tumblr RP, please enjoy these links: 
> 
> Arriving on planet for leave: https://pflagentyork.tumblr.com/post/163264139187/pflagentnorthdakota-pflagentcarolina
> 
> York and Carolina in the shop: https://pflagentcarolina.tumblr.com/post/163266988100/pflagentyork-pflagentcarolina
> 
> North, South, York and Carolina playing "chicken" at the beach: https://pflagentcarolina.tumblr.com/post/163274521180/pflagentsouthdakota-pflagentyork

Carolina and York walk through the halls of the resort, each carrying a large wine bottle and  searching for their room.  Carolina holds their keycard in her free hand, from York’s dangle two champagne flutes, stems threaded through his fingers and bases clinking quietly in his palm.  

They nearly walk clear past it before York clears his throat and Carolina turns to realize her mistake.  Room twelve, the numbers half covered by a folded piece of paper taped to the door.  York plucks it off the door and opens it, but quickly returns his attention to her as Carolina inserts the card into the lock.  There’s a small flash of green light and she brushes him behind her as she pushes the door open, stepping to the side to avoid silhouetting herself, an easy target should an assassin be hiding in wait.  The room is silent, still evening bright, with the sunset peeking through the parted curtains beyond the bed.  She steps in almost casually, but her head swings in all directions, checking corners, around anything that could be used as cover.  Her instincts tell her nothing lies in wait, but she checks anyway and she feels York moving with her, a pace away, watching her back even now.  She finally gives the all clear, and both champagne bottles and flutes end up on the bedside table.  

“Hey,” York starts, not even trying to hide his grin as he tosses the letter her way and watches her snatch it out of the air. “We got a noise complaint.”

Carolina reads it, biting her lip with amusement and satisfaction.  “Proud of yourself?”  She wavers for a moment, torn between crumpling the note to throw in the garbage, or tucking it away to keep.

“Extremely,” he crows, stripping off his swimsuit and heading to the shower, leaving the door wide open in invitation.  

Carolina watches him walk away appreciatively, then tucks the note away in the small bag that is passing for a purse.  She doesn't bother undressing and follows him in.  

The bathroom was spacious, short of luxurious, but plenty comfortable. It’s tropical themed, with a little peach-marble table laden with hotel amenities and a little dish of sand and seashells, sand dollar knobs on the doors and furniture and aqua curtains. York was just stepping into the shower stall as she walked in, and Carolina spares a quick wistful look toward the large two person bathtub before joining him.  

“Once we get the sand off, you wanna take a bubble bath together? Or you got something else in mind with that suit?” York makes no attempt to hide the appreciative look he gives her; the higher waist on the bottom makes her legs look even longer, and the tie between the cups on the halter just begs to be untied. It's cute and distinctive without being especially revealing or uncomfortable. He's pleased with his choice.

Carolina smiles, her eyes scanning him up and down.  “The only plan I have for the suit is for it to end up on the floor -- but I want you to take it off.”  She reaches up to twine her fingers around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.  “Then a bubble bath sounds divine.  Maybe we can double the bubbles and bring the champagne in with us?”

“Perfect,” he agrees, immediately reaching for the tie. A few moments of struggling in silence, as Carolina arches an eyebrow at him, reveals the knot to be a hoax. “It's sewn in,” he laments, pushing her breasts up to watch her cleavage increase before easing them back down. “Oh well.” He ducks the loop of the halter over her neck and starts kissing down her body, leaving the top to cling to her breasts by the band as he drops to his knees and starts to inch the bottoms down, lapping at the rivulets of water running down her skin. 

Carolina rests her hands on York's head, savoring the feel of his hands and tongue on her body, but there's one thing he seems to be forgetting.  “Mind the sand.” 

Right on cue, he spits to the side, down the drain. “I hate nature.” 

Carolina laughs at that.  “Really?  Because you sure seem to like getting wild.”  She rolls her hips against him, brushing at his face with her body.  “And mating.”

He pulls her swimsuit down to her thighs, stroking his hand down her skin and helping the water wash the sand off. With the edges of his teeth, he nips her hipbone and growls, playing along. “So do you. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were in heat.”

“I know I can't be… but only because I want you this badly -- all --the --time.”  She is gripping his hair now, each word punctuated by a tiny pull, just to watch his lashes flutter, and hear the quiet moan that is almost lost in the sound of the shower.  “Let’s make this fast, York.  I want out of here so I can fuck you like an animal.”

“No bubble bath?” Genuine disappointment seeps into his voice. Sex is great, sex is amazing, but they can have sex whenever they want on the ship. Bathtubs are scarce.

Carolina softens.  “I'm sorry sweetheart.”  She caresses his cheek in apology.  “I… forgot.  Got carried away.  You make that very easy to do.”  She steps back, taking over her own undressing, sliding her suit bottoms the rest of the way to the floor and struggling to peel off her top, nearly elbowing him in the face with the effort.  Finally it falls to the floor as well, and she makes sure his eyes are on her before she scrubs her hands over herself, getting any last stubborn patches of sand off her body and down the drain. 

“Get my hair, too?” he asks, closing his eyes as she scrubs his scalp with her fingers. With all the chaos of the failed game of chicken in the ocean with North and South, he got sand absolutely everywhere, and by the time she’s finished the parts of his body not in the shower spray are freezing.

“I’ll get the champagne if you start the hot water,” York offers anyway, willing to brave the cold room to spare Carolina, tying a towel around his waist and heading out. He throws a look at the bed as he grabs the bottle and glasses off the table - there’s scratches and dents in the carved wooden headboard from the handcuffs they’d used earlier. Nothing too terrible, but he’s going to have to pay extra for repairs. Worth it, anyway, to have had Carolina edge him with her lips around his cock until he screamed loud enough to be heard on the beach.

Carolina had figured out the taps by the time York returns with one of the wine bottles and the flutes.  “When you have a  sec, check the temperature - make sure it isn't too hot.”  There's a section of complimentary toiletry bottles next to the sink, shampoo, conditioner and lotion, and a fourth she grabs.  She hears the sound of foil crumpling behind her as she twists off the cap of the bubble bath and breathes in the scent of tropical fruit.  She turns around just as York wraps a towel around the end of the champagne bottle.  She watches as he expertly twists the cork out, with no wasted motion and just a quiet pop instead of a fountain of frothy bubbles. 

Carolina empties the bubble bath into the stream from the tap, watching the water frothing in the base of the tub.  No point in holding any back… this is their one chance to enjoy, with no way of knowing when, or if, they will ever have the opportunity again. 

“Seems good to me.” York tugs the towel around his waist down just enough to tease, conscious of how it can’t entirely hide how he’s getting hard and not wanting to ruin the romance with lust. He wants to soak all of this in, literally and figuratively, so he raises one flute in a toast as Carolina steps back to let the tub fill.

“To tonight?” he asks, mind stumbling on a need for some occasion, some significant label for the night. Anything to replace the idea that’s been worming into his mind that they’re on some haphazard, stolen honeymoon.

“To tonight,”  Carolina smiles, but her words are heavy and sincere.  “To us.”

York takes a deep drink of the champagne and gestures at the tub; once Carolina is seated he tosses his towel and joins her, water just deep enough to cover his hips. 

Carolina offers him her glass, feeling a strange arousal at the way his throat moves as he accepts and drinks.  As soon as his lips pull away, hers replace them, feeling the lingering warmth of him on the edge of the glass, and the champagne seems sweeter for having been shared by him. She holds out her glass and waits for him to refill it, drinking deeply again as soon as he places it in her hand.

York moves down to kiss her chest, sliding down in the deepening water until he’s level with her breasts. He waits until she’s finished drinking to latch onto one and suck, briefly, playing at her with his tongue before moving on to the other. His hands rest in the small of her back, sliding up and down.

“Here,” he says, sitting up and coaxing her to lean back as he kisses across her chest. “I got you.” His hands on her back supporting her, York eases her to arch backwards, spine bending gracefully as he gets her hair wet, gently playing with her tresses in the water. Satisfied, he helps her sit back up and supports her with bent knees, smothering a groan as she slides into his lap and traps his cock against his stomach.

Carolina takes another sip, small, but enough that when she presses her mouth to his there is enough to share.  She licks into his mouth before swallowing, feeling herself slowly getting drunk off both the champagne and York, and craving more of both.

The bubbles in the bath are building up now, creating a thick luxurious foam that is slowly climbing their bodies, hiding their nakedness from each other.  Carolina drags her fingers through it, carving out a small piece.  She places on York's shoulder, pressing down lightly so it spreads under her hand, pulls her fingers through it to leave a white trail leading to his neck and up his throat, without ever touching his skin.

Careful not to disturb the bubbles, York drains his neglected glass and gathers up foam for Carolina, plumping it up around her chest until it starts to look like clothing. He’d been aiming for mimicking her armor, but at the sight of the soft white bubbles gracing her skin, his mind stalls and veers into dangerous, dangerous territory. To distract himself, York leans forward and blows into the bubble stack, spraying foam everywhere.

Carolina gasps squeezing her eyes shut as clumps hit her nose and cheeks.  She peeks back out at him, wiping the offending bubbles away.  Slowly, deliberately, she gathers up another mound of foam, scoops it up in both her hands together, and deposits it on top of his head.  She pulls back and bursts out laughing.  “You look like you're wearing a meringue.”

“Boyfriend a la mode?” he offers, and puts a dollop on her nose.

“Well, almost.”  She pulls herself closer in his lap, fingers climbing his neck, along his jaw as she leans to his ear.  “I don't know about the ice part, but in a little while, I will definitely make you creamy.”  She fidgets on his lap, feeling his cock hardening further between them.  “Drink your champagne.”

He obeys with a chuckle at her joke, sliding a little deeper into the tub. “Why, Carolina,” he lets the vowels roll of his tongue, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted to take advantage of me. How scandalous,” and York lets his head fall back, tilting to the side in clear invitation (and indication of how the champagne is starting to get to his head) as he eyes her appreciatively.

Carolina stiffens in mock outrage, leaning over him.  “Take advantage of you? Absolutely not!”  She lowers her face to his so their lips are nearly brushing.  “I am trying to  _ seduce you, _ Agent New York.”  She bypasses his lips completely, dropping to nuzzle his exposed neck.

Eyes fluttering closed, every muscle lax from the alcohol and the hot water, York moans, reaching up with a weak hand to cup the back of her head encouragingly. Never mind that she’s already ravaged his neck just a few hours before, he wants more. As she shifts on top of him, a bit of water splashes over the edge of the tub. Cracking his good eye open, York stretches his leg out and turns off the water with a nudge of his foot, letting out a content sigh in the sudden silence.

If his neck tastes a little soapy, Carolina is too focused on the feel of him relaxed and willing against her, to mind.  She kisses all the way up to his jaw, down to his collarbone, following the throb of his pulse in the arteries under her lips.  She picks a spot, one that seems to make him moan whenever her lips touch it, and settles to suck.

She loves everything about this, the way his breathing deepens and speeds up at the same time, the way he shifts below her but stays so open to her, how her name lingers on his lips like the memory of a kiss.  She wants him so badly, wants to drag him from the water, to fall into bed with him, and fuck each other until they wake to a book’s worth of complaints taped to their door.  But he's right -- the tub is a luxury they may not have again for a long time.  In order to distract herself, she pulls back to drink.  When York opens his eyes at the interruption, she raises her glass to him before draining it, pausing at the end as the tickle of the bubbles make it hard to swallow.  She manages eventually, and looks around for the bottle to refill.

York surges up to kiss her, grabbing her face with both hands and holding her, licking inside her mouth as though chasing the bubbles. In truth, it’s both a thanks and a retaliation for adding to the marks on his neck and winding him up a few more notches. When he pulls back and gives her a delighted grin, it’s in time with him pulling the bottle into view.

“Not much left. Might have to call room service for more.”

She accepts the bottle and pours the remainder for herself, then apologizes for her selfishness by offering her glass to him first.  “We have one more waiting for us by the bed, remember?.  We will have to do a new round of toasts when we get there.  Think you can manage to open that bottle as… capably… as you did this one?  That was kinda hot.”

“Hopefully. I have popped a lot of bottles in my day.” He takes a sip and passes it back to her, waiting for her to take a drink before tapping her on the shoulder. “Here. Turn around and lay down? You look a little cold up there.”

“Mmm.  Okay.  Just watch your...self.  Don't want to crush anything as I turn.  Need to take care of my toys until we are ready to play.”  Moving reveals just how much the champagne is going to her head, and her solution is to try to finish her partially full glass so she doesn't accidentally drop it in the water. It's more difficult than it seems, because every time she raises her glass she meets his eyes, and only manages a single swallow before becoming so distracted that she forgets what she's doing. Her third attempt ends with her missing her mouth completely and spilling champagne on her own chest.

Without thinking, York leans forward to lick the spot, unfortunately tasting more soap than champagne from lingering bubbles.

Carolina laughs as his face twists in disgust, and then gives him an apologetic kiss.  She passes him her glass, and with exaggerated care, turns on his lap to rest against him.  The water climbs up her breasts and she relaxes into the heat and him.

He takes another sip from her flute and passes it back, wrapping his arms around her in a loose embrace and resting his cheek on top of her head. Relaxed and perfectly content, he lets himself start to hum, knowing she can feel it rumbling in his chest as his fingertips stroke up and down her stomach, up and down.  

Carolina closes her eyes, turning her head to rest her cheek against his chest.  His humming echoes inside her, her body sharing his song, and she catches his hand stroking along her stomach in her own, threading their fingers together and resting low on her abdomen.  She sighs, peaceful and in love.

Without breaking his melody, York lets his mind wander back to how different he is now from when he first joined the Project. He’d wanted to help people, to be a hero and save the world; but as time rolled on and he saw his team take one step backwards for every two steps forwards at saving lives, that’s becoming less of a motivation now. He’d still love to save the world, but that’s neck and neck with the more plausible dream of saving her from the war. A war he feels like they’re helping build rather than stop.

It doesn’t hurt to think of that, though. Not tonight, when they’re shielded from the stars by the cream-painted ceiling with the soft amber lights turned low. Nothing can touch them here.

He spreads his fingers out on her skin and pulls hers tighter between them, feeling his heart skip from a surge of affection and kissing her wet hair. Here, in this honeymoon, in this dream, he can pretend the peace will last forever and that they could make something together of their own.

With her head turned, ear against his chest, Carolina listens to York's heart beat, keeping time with his song.  After a moment, she rolls her head back, trying to look at him.  “York?”

“Yes, darling?”

“...I think I'm drunk.”

“Iiiiiis that a bad thing?” he asks, tightening his hold around just in case she started to slip forward and under the water.

“I dunno. S’probably okay.”  There's a short moment of silence, then-- “York?”

Again, amused and overflowing with affection. “Yes, darling?”

“You’re so handsome.  Like… I am so lucky.  ‘Cause, everyone sees it but you and I could stare at you all day and it probably doesn't matter because everyone knows anyway and I wish I could kiss you and never stop and…”  the stream of words becomes confused and dies away and she settles her face back against his chest again, trying to remember what she was saying.  Then she picks her head back up still trying and failing to look at him.  “Did I say Iove you?  I wanted to say I love you.”

“I think you did just fine at saying that.” Pleased at the compliments, York tilts his head back and relishes in the feeling of being attractive. “And you,” he continues, dropping his head until his lips can brush the shell of her ear, “are bar none the most beautiful, brilliant, and passionate person I have ever met. You have stolen my heart and I never want it back. I love you, too.”

York grabs the empty bottle and tilts it around, hoping for anything left in it and trapped in the tub from getting the second one. A dramatic sigh, and he lowers the bottle out of sight in favor of having two arms to hold her with.

“I stole your heart…” Carolina rolls the words around her mouth as though testing the idea and her next words are delighted and playful.  “Without setting off any alarms?  Ooo.  I can be your backup infiltration specialist.  We will have to practice.  With lots.  And lots.  Of locks.”  She presses back into his chest again, laughing first at the idea, and then at herself.

“Okay, someone is toasted,” and York carefully sits up, filling his empty champagne flute under the bath tap. It’s pretty warm coming out, but it’s water. “Have a drink of this.”

Carolina obediently takes a sip and makes a face.  “Warm water.  Ugh.”  She pushes it away and puts her head back down.  “Someone told me once that warm drinks em-- emal -- ammal--?”  She snorts with frustration.  “They fake the warmth and comfort of human touch.  Full of shit.”  She cuddles against him tighter.  “Nothing comes close, nothing in the world matches how you make me feel.  Warm.  Comforted.  Peaceful.  Safe.  Horny.  Happy.”  She pauses for a second, running back over the list, then shrugs.  “Nothing could ever take your place.”

He drains the rest of the glass to have an excuse not to look at her, as Carolina takes a sledgehammer to his emotional stability again. “If we’re lucky, nothing will ever need to,” he says, voice rough as he kisses her temple. The water is starting to get cold, but he doesn’t want to move, isn’t ready for her to see him, the stubborn tears he’s been fighting most of the night finally curling down his face. He’s happy. He is. They’re not tears of sadness, or loss, or fear; they’re of joy and love and they break him twice as easily.

Carolina is lazy tired.  Not sleepy, but completely willing to lie in his arms as long as he wishes.  The cooling water is stealing her heat, but York is warm behind her and it's enough.  She raises their clasped hands from the water, taking his left in both of hers.  She fans his fingers out, running her fingertips through his palm.  She turns it over to inspect the back, brushing gently over his scars before turning back over again.  After staring down at it, still and silent for a moment, she raises it to her mouth.  

Carolina kisses each of his fingers, his palm, then brings it up to press against her cheek.  Then she winds her fingers back through his, dropping them both back into the water, easing her head back to his chest as though none of it had happened.

“Satisfied?” he asks, after clearing his throat.

“No.”  She gives up trying to look at him, and relaxes until she can no longer feel where she ends and York begins.  “I can never get enough of you.”

“Good,” he says, cutting himself off before he can add on how he has every intention of spending the rest of their lives together. “Let’s get you some cool water and warm blankets, yeah? C’mon. Up.” 

Carolina lets out a groan of protest but manages to slide off his lap.  Her knees hit the bottom of the tub before her face can submerge.  The bubbles are disappearing and she leans back in the water, her hair billows out, as fluid as the water itself.  She reaches out to touch it, enjoying the way it flows around her.  She tries to look behind her, look for York, and gives a start at a splash next to her.

He splashes water over his face, ducking his head under to wash the suds out. When he looks up, wiping out his eyes, Carolina is watching him upside down.

“What?” he asks, putting on a smile.

She smiles back, then closes her eyes, moving her head back and forth, sweeping her hair through the water, scrunching up her face with delight.  “Imma mermaid!”

“I’d call you a siren,” he teases, reaching out to let the ends of her hair brush across his skin. “But mostly, I’d call you drunk. Up.”

York stands, holding onto the sides of the tub, and steps out. He scrubs the towel over his skin, watching Carolina out of the corner of his eye, ready to grab her should she slip but in the meantime subtly flexing and angling his hips away just enough to tease.

Carolina is trying to stand enough to make her way out of the tub, but freezes when she looks up.  She eases herself back down so she can fold her arms over the side of the tub and watch openly and unashamed, her eyes drifting appreciatively over everything he offers for her inspection.  “I always love it when you do that,” she says conversationally, “but I can't tell you that because you're a colossal knob and would do it all the time if you knew.”  She tilts her head to the side.  “Fuck but you have such a great ass.”

York lifts a leg up to rest his heel on the edge of the tub, making a show of rubbing the towel down his thigh while still blocking her view of his junk. “Well, it’s good that I have such a great history of being very humble about my assets, isn’t it?” Tying the towel loose around his waist, York grabs the other one off the rack, tosses it over his shoulder, and offers her a hand.

Carolina takes his hand, allowing him to help her stand, then shifting so both hands are on his forearm as she maneuvers out of the tub.  She’s shivering before she even has both feet on the ground, goosebumps popping up in ranks, mobilizing as an army over her skin.  Her nipples harden painfully and she keeps one arm across her chest to try and warm them. 

He throws the towel around her shoulders, covering her with it and pulling her closer to him. Gentle with her hair, he squeezes the worst of the wet out and starts to move down her body, rubbing in little circles and resuming his humming as he warms and dries her. 

“I love getting to take care of you,” he confesses. “You’re such a badass I don’t get much of a chance.”

She smiles at him, but a thread of something darker worms into her heart, despite the champagne.  “I wish you never had to.  I wish I was stronger, that I could always protect us both and you'd never have to take care of me.  Or, at least if you do, I wish it is only like this.  This,” she leans into him, letting the fear leave as he overwhelms her senses, “...this is nice.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, cursing the shadow that flitted behind her eyes. He can guess her thoughts. Dropping to his knees as he moves to her waist, he presses his forehead against her stomach. “Feeling any warmer?” he asks, looking up as he wraps the towel around her leg and rubs up and down her thigh.

Carolina wraps her arms around him, stroking his hair, cradling his head against her stomach.  “I'm good. So full of love, can't help but be warm.”  She pauses.  “Blankets would be nice though.  And more champagne?”  She looks down at him hopefully.

York cocks an eyebrow.

“For me. Maybe some for you after you’ve had water.” He switches legs, working from the ankle up this time, and kisses the inside of her hip again. “You had easily two thirds of that just by yourself.”

“Oops.”  Carolina is already looking around for her abandoned flute, and once spotted, she nearly walks away from him, and only stops as he tightens his grip on her leg.  She blinks down at him. “I'm supposed to have water, right?”

In reply, York bends down and picks her up, bridal style, and carries her out of the bathroom. He lays her out on the bed and kisses her deeply, pouncing on top of her and pinning her to the mattress until she’s breathless beneath him and then he pulls back. 

“Water,” he agrees, voice having dropped an octave, and retreats to fill up her glass with ice and water from the table.

Carolina pulls herself up to sit, waiting for him. As he hands her the glass, she accepts it with one hand, and with the other, gives his towel a tug.

“Ah ah ah,” and he catches it before it can fall, “drink your water first. And let me open the next bottle so i can catch up.”

For his protesting, York holds the bottle a little bit lower than he did before, just to be suggestive, as he opens it. Settling down next to her, he tilts the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink, feeling it warm him from the inside out. Which is nice, because he’s starting to get cold.

“Almost wish they hadn’t remade the bed,” York comments, yanking at the corner of the well-tucked blankets and somehow managing to get under them without spilling. “You want in, too?” he asks her, eying her naked form. God, he wants to fuck her. He wants to get warm and drunk enough to fuck her. He wants to--

Without waiting for an answer, York tilts the bottle back and chugs, trying to drown out the intrusive daydreams that keep coming back tonight. The more he drinks, the more he feels as though the bubbles are flooding his veins, filling him with goosebumps and glee. 

Carolina nods, takes a long drink off her water before carefully dropping off her end of the bed to wrestle with the sheets.  She manages to spill water over the edge of the glass before she gets the blankets free, but at least she can get in.  Before she does, though, she finishes her glass of water, looking thoughtfully at the ice before finally climbing under the covers.  She rolls on her side, head propped up the back of her hand, using the other to reach across the bed sheets and brush her fingertips gently over York’s forearm.

He sets the bottle on the table. “Yes?”

She gives a little shrug and an even smaller smile.  “Nothing.  Just wanted to touch you.”

York gives a pleased noise and rolls closer to her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her closer. “You can touch me as much as you want,” he says, kissing her on the cheek, the alcohol and endorphins flooding his veins with satisfaction.

“Okay.”  She cups his cheek in her hand, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone.  She drags her fingertips down the bone, curling them away one at a time until only a single finger trails along his nose, right to the tip.  She pauses there for a moment before removing it.  She moves forward haltingly, carefully, and kisses the spot, then drops lower to press lightly to lips.  The kiss stays light, but draws out, and she drags her hand up along his ribs, feeling how the muscles bunch up under her touch.  She rests her hand on his shoulder a moment, too distracted by their kissing, and finally it moves on its own behind his neck, cupping over his unoccupied port.

“Thanks for keeping me alive,” he says, suddenly somber. “And helping me get back what I lost.”

“I have to keep you alive.  We have to make it through this.”  Carolina closes her eyes, leans her forehead against his.  “I don’t want to make plans, York.  But… you make it so hard.”

“I know, I know. For that-- for making it hard, I'm sorry.” He drinks in what he can see of her face from this close and his good eye against the pillow, heart beating heavy in his chest.

“No.  Don’t be sorry.  Don’t you ever be sorry.”  Her words come out choked to a whisper.  “Don’t be sorry that you make me so happy, so happy that I wish it’d last forever.  Don’t be sorry that I love you so much that I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.  Don’t you dare be sorry about that.”  She closes her eyes, cheeks burning.  “....More champagne?  Please?”

“... Marry me.”

Carolina’s eyes snap open.  “What?”

“Marry me,” York repeats, terrified and thrilled all at once. “Even if it's only for tonight. Just so we can have had this-- just once. For sure. And then when-- when we get out, if you still want, we can do it for real. But-- for tonight-- do you wanna be married?”

Face to face, nose to nose, there was only one answer she could give him, and that was to pull him to her as tightly as she could, pulling him over her, holding his face in her hands, kissing him until neither of them had any breath left in their lungs.  “Yes, York.”  She digs her fingers into his hair, as though afraid if she lets him get too far from her that the moment will disappear.  “Marry me.”

Part of him freezes in shock, sealing the moment - Carolina, hair drying unevenly and curling on the pillow, green eyes burning and mouth plump from kisses - forever in his mind. The rest of him jumps fifteen steps ahead in one moment and peels him off her with little more than a “wait one second” in warning.

One and a half eyes scan the room for anything resembling a ring or box; York spots the wrappings of the champagne bottle and gets to work, tearing the little metal cage in half and shaping it into a ring. He’s drunk enough that the process fast-forwards in his mind (later he’ll note the little pinpricks of red on his palm from the broken bits of metal before he smoothed them down) and then he’s at the table, hunting through the sandbox for matching shells.

Carolina lay in bed a little longer, listening to York moving around in the bathroom, completely bemused.  “York?  What’re you doing?”

“Doing something right, for once. Hang on.” Breathless, he assembles the last pieces then scrambles back to the bed, kneeling beside her, towel lost in the chaos.

“Carolina-- shit, I never got your last name--” York shakes himself and meets her eyes with a desperate intensity, “Agent Carolina,” and he opens the paired seashells to reveal a twisted wire ring, “will you marry me?”

Despite their talk not two minutes before, despite the fact they are facing each other completely naked, despite everything about this entire surreal situation, York’s question and his vulnerable sincerity shakes her to her core.  Carolina’s throat tightens - she can't respond.  Instead she reaches out, seizing one of his wrists with one hand and cupping his cheek with the other.  She presses their foreheads together, nodding furiously before managing up squeak out a “yes.”  She pulls back just enough to see the delighted look in his eyes before leaning back forward to kiss him.

“Okay, okay, okay, let me put it on,” he babbles, heart beating so hard and fast he’s not sure he can still breathe. It aches to pull away from her, but York wants to do this as properly as possible. The ring isn’t a perfect fit and he’s careful when he slides it on that it doesn't scratch her skin, but it’s the gesture that matters and tonight that’s all he can get.

Carolina smiles down at her ring, up at York, back down to the ring again.  “I  _ love  _ it.”  She grabs one of his hands, threading their fingers together.  “You know I am going to keep this forever, right?  I'm going to keep it where I can see it every single day?  Because I'm gonna.”

“Add it to the collection, my darling, and I’ll give you everything I can.” This time he lets himself kiss her again, deeply, starting to push her back to lay down before York pulls himself together. “Ceremony-- we gotta have a ceremony. Um.”

“Dress!  I need a  _ dress.”   _ Carolina looks down at her own nakedness and then at York. “And you need… something.  And a ring!  You have to have a ring too!  We can't do  _ vows _ if we don't  _ both _ have  _ rings. _ ”  Carolina looks frantically around the room, then at the bed.  She flings off the comforter and starts hauling at the white sheet.  When it refuses to budge she rises to her knees, but then she realizes York is still there.  “Off!”  Without waiting for him to move, Carolina puts one foot on his hip and pushes.  York only has time to gasp before he disappears off the edge of the bed.

Stunned but unhurt, York lays there for a moment before slinking a hand up to grab the bottle of champagne again. He takes a long pull, listening to Carolina muddle around in the sheets. As he’s down there, he finds his abandoned towel and drapes it across his lap. Thus finished with all the steps needed on his end, he lets himself have a smug little smile and another drink, one that makes the edges of his already hazy vision have motion blur.

After a moment, Carolina realizes he's still in the room.  She flops down on the bed, peering over the edge.  “Why are you still here?”  Her voice quivers with outrage. “The groom is not allowed to see the bride before the wedding!  Out.”  Carolina glares balefully down at him before disappearing back over the edge of the bed again.  “ _ And don't look at me.” _

“Doooooes this count as looking?” York asks, covering his good eye with his free hand. When she pops back into view, she's just a blur of red and tan.

“Yes.” Carolina drops a pillow on his head.  “To the bathroom. Go.”

York crawls away, leaving the bottle in apology; once he's there he takes a moment to look himself in the mirror and really soak in how drunk he is. He looks wrecked, covered in hickeys and with his hair a fluffy, curling mess. With his fingers he tufts it into an approximation of his usual style, and there's little to be done about the hickeys but at least he can dress himself with a robe he finds, folded on the sink.

“Where were you twen’y minutes ago when my nuts were freezing off?” he asks it, as he shrugs the soft white garment on. Once he ties it and tugs at the collar, he can pretend it's formal wear. 

Carolina stumbles off the bed with the sheet.  She wraps it around herself, like a towel after a bath, covering her chest, but leaving her shoulders bare.  She rolls the top edge to keep it up, but it takes a couple tries before it stays up more than a few seconds. She’s painfully aware it looks like she's wearing a tent, and tries to find a solution. There's a cord she can see holding back the curtains at the window and she snatches it up, tying it around herself to reclaim her waist.  

Carolina is about to turn away when something else catches her eye.  She pulls back the heavy aqua curtains, and smiles at the translucent fabric underneath.  She finds a chair, drags it over.  Hiking her “dress” up over her knees, she climbs up onto the chair and reaches for the curtain rod.

Five seconds and a loud crash later, Carolina picks herself up off the ground, slightly bruised but at least holding the curtain rod in her hand.

"... You okay over there? 'Lina bean?"

“Yeah.  Everything’s good here.  No problems.  Why?  Oh, just so y’know, we might have to fix something later. Don't come out!” 

Carolina holds the rod upright, letting the curtains slide off into pile on the ground.   She grabs one of the see-through white panels and drapes it over her head -- perfect veil.  

She knows she's forgetting something. Veil -check. Dress - check.  Ring - ch…

York's ring.

Carolina looks down at the one he made for her.  It is simple, the wire from the champagne bottle twisted around itself into a thicker cable, then looped around to make the ring itself.  Shouldn't be hard.  She can do this.  But first…

Carolina crept around the bed, pressing herself to the wall where she knew she couldn't be seen through the bathroom door.  “York?”

He’s made himself a little nest in the bathtub with some extra towels, laying back and soaking in the joy and the alcohol and singing love songs under his breath. Her voice startles him out of tune.

“Yes, darling?”

“Do you still have that wire? That you used to make my ring?  Can I have it?  I need to make yours,” Carolina leaned her head against the wall, “I want them to match.”

“I do,” he says sweetly. “Do you want to come in and get it, or d’you want me to bring it out?”

“I'll come get it.  Close your eyes?”

Obediently, York drapes one arm over his eyes and closes them tightly. “Come on in.”

Carolina stepped in, eyeing York carefully to make sure he kept his word.  “Where is it?”

Raising his free hand, York opens his fingers to reveal a second ring, already shaped. It sits on his palm like an offering, and he lets the smile spread as he waits to feel Carolina take it.

She creeps up close, takes off her ring as carefully as she can and swaps them, closing his hand around it after she does.  “You’ll need this.  Keep your eyes closed just a bit longer.”  She hurries out again and takes a spot near the foot of the bed, just out of sight through the door.  She holds his ring in her fingers, takes a deep breath and raises her voice.  “You ready?”

A loaded question. It helps to know that this is a practice run, of sorts, and it’s okay for him to feel unprepared; and yet he knows this is what he wants, what he’s wanted for a long time. There’s a million things twisted up inside of him but when he pulls himself away from the mess of himself he knows there’s only one answer.

“I am.”

York wraps his fingers around Carolina’s ring and - with a moment’s unsteadiness from both his damaged vision and the bottle of champagne - cracks open the door.

For a moment, he wants to laugh at her; not because she looks a little silly in what looks like the curtain liner draped over her head and the bedsheet around her body, but because of how well she’d managed to improvise the whole thing while drunk and in a matter of minutes. And then he realizes what a mistake he’s made with this, play-acting something he wants to be real so badly. 

“Sometimes the good dreams are worse than the nightmares,” he murmurs under his breath, leaning in the doorway and drinking her in.

Carolina smiles when the door opens and York appears. She doesn't know where he found the white robe, but it suits him.  She tucks away a mental note to talk to Niner about finding him a robe of his own, but that's for another time.  Right now she feels her heart pounding, and tries to steady her breathing.

York lingers in the doorway, and Carolina’s stomach drops at the idea that he might have changed his mind.  “York?”  She holds out her hand, inviting him to join her.

Careful with every step lest he trip again, York takes her hand. “Uh, do you count as a ship’s captain? Those can officiate weddings. I think you’d count more than me, anyway.”

“I...can help Niner as a co-pilot?  Does that count?”  Carolina fidgets uncomfortably.  “I’ve never actually been to a wedding before.  Seen ‘em in movies -- you do some vows, ‘better or worse’, rings, kiss... that’s all I know.”

“I ain’t gonna be much better, but you want me to say mine first?” He rubs his thumb over the top of her knuckles, back and forth, like he does whenever she’s been taking her anger out on a punching bag and he’s taped her back together.

“Please?”  She allows herself to relax under his touch.  “I’ll follow your lead.”

“Right. Okay. Gotcha. Understood.” York stares at her hands, smaller than his but so powerful, highly specialized tools he’s seen take lives with ease and yet she trusts him with them, to hold hers with his. He knows the script for traditional weddings just fine, even like this, but she deserves something better.

Maybe, years down the line, he can give her that.

“Carolina-- I’ve known you through some of the most exhausting, thrilling, and dangerous years of my life. I already know that you’ll stay with me through the worst of things, and our worst gets pretty damn bad. So-- so I wanna ask you if you’d wanna stay with me for the good things, too. If you’d-- if you’d want me at your side when the war is over, and if we can make a home together. Do you, Carolina?”

“I do.”  The words came without hesitation, and her hands tightened on his.  “York --  you’ve followed me every step, since we joined up.  You’ve obeyed my orders, watched my six, never complained when you were left in my shadow.  My faithful, dedicated second I’ve trusted with my life, and now I entrust with my heart.  D’you accept my love, my dedication in return, my promise that when this is over, we will be together to build a life together?  Do you, York?”

“I do,” he says in a rush, “I do, I do, I do.” It doesn't matter if this isn't a binding legal thing; hell, it doesn't matter if they're just doing this because they're drunk and depressed. The love behind it is real. “God damn, Carolina, can I kiss my bride?”

“Not yet!  Rings first!”  Carolina releases him, opens one hand to reveal his ring.  “Left hand...left hand…”  It takes her a moment to remember which it would be as he stands facing her, but she figures it out eventually, mainly because he helpfully offers his hand to her.  She knows that there’s something she’s supposed to say here, but she doesn’t know it, and right now doesn’t care.  She slides the ring on York’s finger slowly, trying to avoid nicking him with any rough edges still on the wire.  Once it’s on, she closes her hands around his, kisses his fingers before dropping her own again.

“My turn,” he says, easing her ring on her hand as well. Lifting the veil isn’t as dramatic as he’d have liked, since she’d held it up while trying to puzzle out which hand was his left, but the kiss is amazing -- knee-weakening, heart-breakingly amazing.

Carolina pours herself into the kiss, and then the next, and the next. But when York lets his mouth drift from hers down to her neck, when he takes them back one step at a time towards the bed, Carolina hesitates.  “York -- hold up, just for a minute.  There’s one more thing we need to do.”

He breaks the kiss but keeps close, holding her body next to his with his fingers toying at the top of her dress. “Yeeeeees?”

Carolina reaches up to catch his fingers, clasp his hand in hers.  She looks up into York's face, not even trying to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.  “Back when you were recovering, you told me that you had made plans for us to have a date, and that those plans were ruined when you were attacked.  You told me that you planned on doing a movie, wine and dancing.”  

Carolina moved her body subtly, shifting her arm around him, moving their clasped hands out away from their bodies.  “Isn't it tradition for the bride and groom to have a first dance?”

“Oh. Oh, oh, oh,” he says in a rush once her words sink in, and he looks frantically around the room. “I can't-- we don't have anything to play it on-- how do you--?”

Carolina smiles, leaning forward to kiss him lightly.  “I always love when you sing, York.  I always know you're happy when you're singing.”  Carolina leans against him, resting cheek to cheek.  “Are you happy enough to sing for me now?”

“Might be too tipsy to carry the tune, but-- for you, my wife, anything.” He clears his thrust, repositions his feet, and starts to sing.

“Oh, my love, my darling, I've hungered for your touch…”

At first his voice is unsteady, barely loud enough to hear, but as he settles into a rhythm his voice rises in volume until it surrounds them like the last hint of sunset, seeping through the gap in the repurposed curtains and staining the floor like dark wine.

“I need your love, I need your love, god speed your love to me…”

As the song comes to a close, their gentle swaying slows, stops, ending with a kiss that lingers until they seem frozen in time, both unwilling to break the spell.  Once they finally break apart, they lean against each other, forehead to forehead.  Carolina lets out a tiny sigh, letting go of his hand to run her fingers down his chest. “You sounded happy.”

“Course I was. ‘course I am. I just married  _ you _ . Now, did you have anythin’ else in mind,” and he lowers his voice as his lips brush hers, “or do you wanna consummate this?”

Carolina seizes his hand again brings it up to touch the top of her dress, where the rolled edge of the sheet is barely managing to hold up.  “You wanna rip this off me?” She half closed her eyes to purr, “or you wanna fuck me in my dress?” 

“I'm sure they can figure out how to get out the stains,” he assures her, kissing her and falling backwards on the bed, pulling her down on top of him.

Carolina struggles to straddle him, sheet and her own inebriation getting in the way.  Finally she rolls back off him in frustration, pulling him onto his side to face her.  She puts one hand on his chest, pushing the robe further aside to expose more of his skin. Carolina leans in with a growl of “mine…” and bites.

York moans under her mouth, fumbling with the tie of this robe - did he double knot this thing? For fucks sake - before trying to find his way up her long, overflowing cotton skirt. As his hands scrabble along her legs that try to pull him closer, he can't help but gasp a laugh.

“God, I know a guy could get lost in you but this ain't what I had in mind. Shit, I'm still drunk. Where’d that champagne go?”

“Umm...bedside table? Floor?  Get me some too, yeah?

York rolls on top of her, pleased at her squeal of laughter as his chest crushes her face, and inches his fingers across the bedside table until he reaches the bottle. Thankfully it's half empty, so when Carolina reaches her arms around her back and sucks on his nipple, it doesn't splash when he jolts from pleasure.

Carolina keeps sucking while blindly fumbling along York’s arm, searching for the bottle. When he manages to pass it off to his other hand and away from her, she laughs, and nips him in retaliation. 

“So,” and he grinds against her, which feels weird as hell against her stomach, “impatient.” When he rolls onto his back again, his robe falls half open, revealing one leg and part of his hip. York takes a sip of champagne, which is really more like a chug and the night couldn't really get much better than this but he’s trying.

“Come here, ‘Lina bean?” he asks, patting the bed on either side of his head. “Think I found a better way to drown in you.”

“‘Kay.”  Carolina tries to move up to him, but hisses as her knees get caught in the sheet again.  She slides off the edge of the bed to stand, gathering up the lengths of fabric in her arms.  She crawls across the bed to York  with exaggerated care, moving until she is finally kneeling directly over him.   She drops the sheet around her again, covering him from the mid-chest up.  She leans forward and plucks the champagne bottle from his hand triumphantly and takes a long sip before easing herself down.

The sheets are soft and lightweight around him, adding to the dreamy feel of it all, and York slides his hands up her thighs to her ass. In tandem, he pulls her hips into the perfect position over his mouth and swipes at her with the tip of his tongue, feeling her tense over him and hearing her whisper his name. He finds her clit and circles it, feeling the motion of her hips under his hands as he slowly starts to work her into a frenzy.

Carolina wants to take another drink, but knows she would spill if she tried.  She clasps the neck of the bottle with both hands, head bowed over it as though in prayer, then bucks when she feels his tongue push inside her.  The next hot thrust into her is rewarded with a groan as she starts to move, to ride him.

It's so much better than he thought it could be; York feels dizzy beneath her, pinned to the pillows by the weight of her body, his breathing heavy and warmed by the sheets around him. Every noise she makes, every twitch of her muscles, he drinks in greedily, wishing only that he could go deeper inside her and do this forever. Thrusts, swirls, any motion he can imagine he tries, stimulating that hot sensitive flesh as one hand starts to gently play with her clit.

Carolina whimpers, leaning forward to steady herself against the headboard, afraid of losing her balance.  The distractions of trying not to spill the champagne and her own drunkenness actually make the sensations more intense, not less, and wet sounds York makes beneath her, punctuated by his hungry moans, are deliciously obscene.  She can't reach him like this, not with both hands occupied and him buried somewhere in the pile of sheets, and it's driving her crazy not to touch him, have her fingers in his hair.   He's driving her crazy, his next movement with his tongue rewarded with a squeal, and she’s trying so hard not to ride him roughly, but her body is moving of its own accord now, speeding her toward orgasm.

He's breathing hard through his nose when he feels her start to lose control, settling harder on top of him with a satisfying weight and motion that he falls into, matching with every lick. The texture of the robe against his dripping cock is unlike anything he’s felt during sex before, and the wistful jerks of his hips send little shocks of pleasure up his spine. York wonders if he could come from this alone, from Carolina riding his face and just the barest kind of stimulation on his dick. Or maybe it's just the limited air and the way it's heating up under the sheets, but in any case he swears his eyes are rolling back in his head as he tries to somehow taste her even deeper, push her those few inches over the edge.

Carolina feels York's arms tighten on her thighs, pulling her down as he presses himself even deeper into her, and she's gone, gasping his name as she comes.  Her body is no longer riding him, but jerking with each roll of pleasure that hits her as he continues to tongue fuck her without mercy.  It's all she can do to hold herself up, not simply fall off him to the side to shiver out the rest of her orgasm on the bed, lying next to him.

York only eases up when her movements slow, little noises of what could be overstimulation as he coaxes her back down, stroking the outside of her thighs and pressing one last kiss to her clit. His mouth hurts with a kind of numb ache which he assumed will be sharper when he's sober, but he feels as satisfied as she does. Or very nearly. He didn't quite come just from that but it was close, and he relishes the down time where his cock throbs for attention between his legs, no less hard but less distracting without fresh stimulation.

Her body feels so heavy as her muscles relax, dragging her down.  Carolina lowers her hand back to the headboard, and realized her other hand is still holding the champagne bottle, and miraculously, there are no signs of a spill.  She pivots, lifting one leg over York, desperately trying to keep from hitting him in the face with her knee, while at the same time keeping her balance so as to not hit her head on the wall or the bed.

She's all tangled up in her dress again with no room to put her leg back down.  She can't let go of the headboard without falling, can't let go of the bottle without spilling.  There's nothing to do but ask for help. “Yooork?”

Hooking his heels over the end of the bed, York drags himself out from under her, rolling onto his side and slithering up the bed to relieve her of the champagne bottle. He makes sure she sees his red, abused lips before he takes a sip and settles on his side, watching her.

“Better, darling?”

Carolina pushes herself up to sitting, over-balances and ends up leaning on him.  She kisses his shoulder before easing herself down to lay out more comfortably. She slides down to center herself on the bed and the movement forces her dress up in a poof.  She sighs dramatically, smoothing it down so she can see him properly.  “Better than better. Amazing.”  She brushes a finger over his flushed face and frowns. “You okay?”

“Absolutely,” he assures her, chasing the touch with a tilt of his head. “Might want to get you out of this, though,” and his free hand trails down her chest, fingers curling around the curtain tie belt. “Unwrap my wedding gift, maybe?”

“Mmmm.”  Carolina hums gently as she reaches down to place her hand over his.  “Careful though. Heard every time y’break a ribbon when you open your presents, s’another baby you're gonna have.”

Pushing her onto her back, York twists his ring around until he finds a sharp edge and pierces the thick fabric. He looks up and holds her gaze as, with a grit of his teeth and a twist of his hands (and absolutely no thought to the penalty he’ll have to pay the hotel for damages) tears the belt into jagged halves.

“One,” he says, voice dropping until the promise sounds like a dare.

She stares up at him with wide eyes, and when she can finally speak, it comes out as a whisper.  “You...really want that? With me?”

York slides the belt out from under her and, still holding her eyes, tears it in half again. “Two,” and it's a little softer, gauging her reaction, even as his heart beats against his ribcage like a prisoner. 

Everything in Carolina’s world goes soft.  She reaches out to touch him, though she can't see where, blinded with tears.  She feels his skin warm under her hand, and strokes her fingers over him, trying to communicate all her love in that light touch.

Her hand on his chest is the greatest comfort, is the twist of a knife. His hands are shaking as he slides the belt between his fingers and tears it one more time. “Three,” and he lets the pieces fall, dropping to seize Carolina’s mouth in a kiss. “As many as you'll have with me.”

Carolina clutches him to her, arms encircled behind his neck, kissing him as though her life hangs on his lips.  When they finally part, she settles back with a breath that is half a sob. “York… what if I can't? What if after all… all they've done… and the  _ shots, _ York… what if I…”

She closes her eyes and pulls him down to her, desperate for his weight, comforting on top of her.

“You will. We’ll find a way. And even if we can't, you'll still have me. Forever. I promise.” If he doubts his words, neither of them can tell. His faith in her - in them - doesn't waver as he holds her tight, lips to her teary cheeks.

“Forever.” Drunk, the word sounds even more intense, more final.  

“Forever,” he repeats. “We’ll find a way.”

Carolina pulls him in for more kisses with one hand, the other following blindly down his arm to find and grasp his own before rolling them onto their sides without breaking the kiss.  Then she guides his hand up to the top of her dress, helping him unroll the fabric above her breasts, pulling the sheet away.

And there's more sheet underneath. York feels his miles of patience growing shorter as he wrestles with the sheet. “Lina bean,” he says with a mirthless laugh, “how did you get this on?”

Carolina gives an exaggerated sigh, softened by an affectionate smile.  “Gimme a sec.”

She manages to pull herself up up to sit, then kneel on the bed.  Carolina unwraps the sheet from around her body, reaching down from time to time to untangle the folds under her knees.  More than once she nearly falls off the bed, but York reaches out an arm to steady her.  She reaches the last twist of fabric and lays back down, leaving the final reveal for him.  

He slides a hand under the sheet first, starting at her chest and feeling his way down her body. Down her ribcage to the dip in her waist, the rise of her hip and the fierce flex of her thighs. Back up her body, still under the sheet, tracing her navel and dragging his fingers along the swell of her breast. And then, finally, nudging it open to  pool under her.

“God, but you're beautiful,” he breathes, drinking her in and finding himself as intoxicated by her as by the champagne.

“And yours,” she whispers back. “I'm all yours.”  Carolina runs a hand down over his chest, his abs, and then curving around hip, flicking his robe away with a twitch of her wrist.  She helps ease his sleeve off, and waits patiently as he shifts his weight, struggling on his own to free his other arm before he drops the robe off the edge of the bed. Carolina slips her arm around him again to pull him closer, to coax him on top of her.  “And you're all mine.”

“Mmmm, I am,” he agrees, taking in a sharp breath when the head of his cock brushes her slit. “You-- you want me like this? You ready for me?” With his hand, holding her gaze and waiting for confirmation, he rubs it against her again, feeling how slick and hot she still is.

“Yes,” Carolina closes her eyes at his touch, arching her back, rolling her hips, trying to give him every sign she's ready and wanting him.  She seizes his hair in both hands pulling him down eye to eye.  “We gonna--” she eases him down for a messy kiss that leaves them both gasping -- “consummate this?”  

In answer, York takes her hand and threads their fingers together, knowing she can feel the ring, and anchors himself on it by her head. He guides himself in, the soft noise she makes when he feels her body shift to take him in like she welcomes him home pierces him to the heart and he cries out, gripping her hand tightly.  

Carolina wraps her legs around him, whispering words of encouragement and love.  She strokes his hair, holding him as close as it is possible for them to be, sharing this last quiet moment of intimacy before he begins to move. 

He starts slowly, deliberately, working his way deeper in her with each rock of his hips and taking advantage of the angle to fill her completely. The hand Carolina has in his hair tightens, and York’s eyes fight to stay open as pleasure crashes through his body like the tide against the shore. He’s already there, already so close but he wants this moment to last forever so he keeps his pace, tilting his head to press a messy kiss on the inside of her arm.

“York--” Carolina presses her head back into the pillows, “god,  _ yes.”  _ Her legs tighten around him, and she curls her body up to meet him for a kiss.  Her muscles are tense for his next thrust, and they both gasp as he pushes through.  She clutches at him, trying to keep herself tight for the next, and the next, but the alcohol weighs her back down and she moves with him instead.  

“You feel-- so good, you’re so good--” his head is swimming and he feels his shoulders shudder, entire body aching to be closer to her but he wants her to really, really feel this. “We’ll be so good, together, both of us.” York chokes on his words as they tangle in his mouth, a thousand dreams and a thousand desires all tied up with one common thread, weaving through the tapestries his mind creates of a life in peace and happiness. Her.

“I love you,” he says, and somehow it’s different than the thousand times before. York drops to his elbows, one hand still holding tightly to hers. “I love you, and we’re going to make it. I promise.”

“I know.” Her hand squeezes back on his.  “We’re gonna be okay.  Keep you safe York. I promise.”  It's hard to think straight, between the champagne, the feel of him in her, lighting up her body with pleasure.  “Got you.”  

“And I’ve-- got you.” The enormousness of it seems to weigh him down further until they’re chest to chest, barely pulling out in favor of grinding against her, kissing her, skin to skin as much as two people can be.

“I love you, I love y--”  The words catch in Carolina’s throat as she comes, and she clutches at him, desperate for something to ground her as her thoughts fly apart, as she shakes out of control.  She burns like a star, with him at her core.  His name is on her lips but is lost in the moan that follows it, as her world whites-out, overwhelmed.

York buries his face in her pillow and howls as she tightens around him, ripping his orgasm out of him and sending his mind into pieces. The rough, sharp movements of his body against hers, into hers, draws more sweet sounds from her mouth as he empties himself into her like he means it, like it matters, like this is real and it won’t just drain out of her. He sobs into her shoulder as he comes down, flexing his hand in her grip as it anchors him to reality and pulls him by inches back to the real world. 

Carolina slowly resurfaces and he is the first thing she is aware of-- his kisses soft against her shoulder and throat, his hand stroking her hair, his body heavy and warm on hers.  He's whispering against her skin, quiet and urgent, but she can't hear his words. Perhaps she's not supposed to.  She's so relaxed and exhausted that she can barely move, but she manages to bring one hand up to his back, tracing circles and trailing her fingertips up and down his spine.  Instantly his lips are on hers, one hand cupping her face, the other still clasping hers, fingers woven together, his thumb brushing over hers.  This is contentment, this is safety, this is peace -- this moment with him, locked away from the rest of the world, is changing her.  She feels these dreams, these plans, this future with him taking root in her heart, and there is no going back.  

The whispers he murmurs into her skin are promises, a thousand and one things they’ll do after the war; all the little mundanities that elude them now, that he’d have taken for granted before the Project but now what haunt his impossible dreams. 

There is nothing he wants more than to stay like this - on her, inside her, with her - forever. His back arches and falls, chasing her touch and making him subtly shift inside her, hypersensitive to her gentle smooth stimulation. That wrings a fresh gasp from him, mouth falling open to gasp as her featherlight touches drive him wild.

“You okay?” Her hand moves lower to strum along his ribs, and she raises her head slightly to press their foreheads together. “Was it good?”  

“So good, so good,” he says, voice hoarse before he clears it, rubbing their noses together. “Love you so much, so goddamn much, you know it right? You feel it?”

“I feel it.”  How could she not?  His love swaddles her like a blanket, fills her to bursting.  “God, I love you too. Really, really love you.”  She pulls him back down for another kiss. “Let’s do this again sometime. For real.”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” he urges, heart pounding afresh at the idea, and he releases her hand to coax them onto their sides and wrap his arms around her. “I want that. Want you, so badly, I shouldn't--” 

Exhaustion and alcohol are slowing him down, robbing him of his articulation. “Just keep falling deeper you know?”

“Deeper...yeah.”  She can barely hear herself. She's already drifting towards sleep, and this has to be a dream. It's too good to be real, they're too happy to be real.  “Just stay here? With me? Let's never leave, jus’ stay right here.” It’s okay to say that here - this is just a dream and the Project doesn't exist here and nothing matters but him.

“Never ever leave,” he promises, closing his eyes to all the dark futures they might encounter and burying her face in the crook of his neck.

\--------

York wakes up to an absolutely splitting headache beating in his brain like a war drum. Not even the comfort of Carolina’s body next to him, hot with sleep, is enough to make this morning worth greeting.

“Son of a bitch,” he croaks, rolling away from her to crack open an eye. There's too much bed, it doesn't make sense; and it's not until his head tilts to the side and he sees the faint gleam of the sun rising over the sea through the damaged curtains that he remembers where they are.

The night is in patches, tangling with his dreams - Carolina in white, surely, that must have been a good one but it's already fading - and he returns to her side, slotting their legs together again.

Carolina groans as York cuddles against her, torn between pulling him closer for comfort and pushing him away so she can suffer out this headache in peace.  Even against her eyelids, the room is bright, which means they are running late and Delta must be trying to get them moving.  “Time is it, D?”  No answer.  “Delta?”

“Left him home,” York croaks. “Just me.”

“Home?”  Carolina opens her eyes for only a second before squeezing them shut against the light, which feels like it is piercing straight into her brain.  “Then wh--”

Realization hits her like a thunderclap. “Shit fuck, York, what time is it? Niner!  What time do we leave?”

York moves to lay on top of her, flipping on the light and  reaching for the forgotten communicator they’d left on the bedside table. The champagne bottle catches his eyes, but not as much as the silver gleam around his left ring finger. His heart skips a beat as a memory, or maybe a dream, slots into place.  

“York? What time is it?”  When he doesn't answer she tries again.  “York, you okay? What's wrong?  Are we really late?  Your heart is racing…”

“It’s--” not nothing, not a dream, not possible and yet-- “Fine. Around 5am local time. We should be good to make it back to the ship if we hurry.”

He gets up and gets to his feet, eying the champagne bottle and taking a swig. Hair of the dog or something, whatever. York offers her a hand up.

Carolina takes his hand and pulls herself up, but before she can let go, before she can turn away to start any of the dozen things that need doing before they can leave, she sees it.  The twist of silver metal encircling her finger locks her up, brings her entire world to a halt as she is overwhelmed, fragments of memory pelting her, disjointed, broken and confused.  She looks wildly around the room, finding little details that jump out at her - a discarded curtain lining on the floor, a sheet twisted over top of the covers.  She looks up at York with wide eyes, hoping something will click, some missing piece that will snap everything together.  Then she realizes he  _ is _ that piece. 

York tries to ignore that searching look she gives him as he steals a swift kiss. “Hurry. We gotta get to the ship. Can you drive?”

“No.”  She can barely think straight, her headache is pounding behind her eyes, and she can still feel the last lingering effects of alcohol in her system.  “And if you feel anything like me at all, neither can you.”

“I’ll call a cab,” and he drops her hand with regret, already missing the cool, coarse feeling of the ring on her finger. He starts the connection to the front desk and pops on the earpiece, struggling into his abandoned clothes from the previous day.

Carolina hurries into the bathroom.  There isn't enough time to shower, but she grabs a washcloth, wets it to give herself a quick wipe down, to at least give the illusion of being clean.  She starts with her face and moves down her body, but when she gets to her thighs, she finds a shiny flaking patch of dried semen.  She’s dealt with their morning-after mess many times, but this time, something aches inside her, a sadness she's never had before and doesn't have time to consider now.  She scrubs at the patch until it disappears, rinses the cloth and drops it in the sink, not bothering to continue with her half-hearted wash.  She gathers up her half-dried swimsuit and heads back into the bedroom.

He’s dressed and putting the last touches on remaking the bed - or at least picking the abandoned bedding up off the floor - when he comes across a little scrap of narrow fabric, torn on both ends. At the sound of the bathroom door opening, York shoves it in his pocket and starts to work on the curtain rod.

Carolina drops the swimsuit next to the small bag she brought with them from the MOI, and starts pulling on the clothes that she had folded neatly into a pile what seems like a year ago.  T-shirt and work on pants first, but as she reaches for a fresh pair of socks in her bag, she catches another glimpse of the ring.  She sits there for a moment, staring at it, then takes hold of it with her other hand.  Her fingers are swollen from last night's binge, and the ring is rough with edges that pick at her skin, but it has to come off.  If she can get it off.

Her struggle catches York’s eye as he stands on tiptoe, rehanging the curtains. There’s a gleam of silver and a muttered swear from her before the shade falls into place, deepening the darkness of the room in lone lamplight. She shakes out her hand - no ring. His heart sinks like a stone thrown in the ocean, and he turns away to finish the last adjustments.

Carolina stares down at the twist of metal in her hand.  The small cuts on her finger don't sting half as much as pain in her heart and she knows there is no way she can part with it.  She tucks it carefully away into her bag, and forces herself to carry on, pulling on her socks with a heavy heart.

She is suddenly painfully aware of him behind her, but she isn't ready for him to see her face, isn't able to hide the emotions sweeping over her.  So she pulls on her socks, shoes and then rummages through her bag pretending to look for something, as though she doesn't know he's there.

“Ready?” he asks. “Front desk said we could leave the suits with them. They’re affiliated with the rental place.”

“Okay.”  Her throat is tight, her voice rough, and she hopes he puts it down to her headache.  Her eyes had better not be red, because she can no longer avoid him.  She can't try to smile though, else everything will come crashing down. “Just give me a second to do one last check, make sure we aren't forgetting anything.” 

Carolina ducks into the bathroom, checking the counters, the shower, the floor around the tub.  York must have picked the towels up at some point, half of them laying in the bottom of the tub, more draped over the edge.  She frowns briefly.  There must have been twice as many as they actually used.  Hopefully they hadn't made a mess that she doesn't remember.  She checks under each towel, just to be sure nothing is in danger of being left behind, then returns to the bedroom.

She glances under the desk in the corner of the room, by a standing lamp she didn't even remember seeing before. She grabs her bag as she walks by, glancing at the top of the small dresser, opening each drawer, just in case.  Finally, she kneels down next to the bed to peer underneath it.

There's something soft and white hidden in there and she pulls it out.  It's a white robe with the name of the resort stitched over the breast, and she tosses it on top of the bed.  She looks underneath one more time and notices something blue.

She reaches in to pull it out, and finds a second, a third.  She gathers them all up, frowning down at the pieces of fabric in her hand.  She glances up at York standing at the door, gold swimsuit in one hand, communicator in the other.  He is waiting patiently, but has ducked his head out the door, looking out into the hallway and clearly ready to go.

She wonders if she should show the scraps to him, ask him about them, find out why they make her heart ache as keenly as the ring.  But she cant. Instead she tucks them away in her bag, to be treasured without even knowing why. 

“Did you have a good time?” he asks when she falls into step beside him.

“I was with you.”  Carolina takes up her usual spot on his right side.  In battle they switch so she can protect his blind side, but off the field he wants to see her, and she's more than happy to oblige.  She takes his hand, threads her fingers through his, desperate for every last gesture of open affection they can steal before they are forced back into an appearance of professionalism. “It was wonderful.  You?”

“The same.” He kisses her just before they reach the lobby; even if the dream is over, their feelings remain. “But next time, I'm going to take you on a real date. Dinner. Extracurricular activity. No South trying to drown me.”

Carolina bursts out laughing.  “Aw, really?  That was my favorite part!”  She catches his eye and grins.  “Glad the twins aren't alike in too many ways.  I was perfectly happy high and dry with North.  That would have been a long way to fall.”  She gives him a little nudge with her hip without breaking stride.  “Would have liked to have been paired with you, but any time you have my legs over your shoulders, you have something different in mind.  Wouldn't have wanted you to get confused out there on the beach.”

He can't help but crack a smile, as bad as his head hurts. “True enough. But that way we could have given them a real run for their money. If we could reach them.” Their driver opens the door for them and York gives it the fastest sweep for danger, trusting Carolina to have eyes behind him. “After you.”

Carolina ducks into the backseat, moving over until York has room to sit down, and she takes a look back at the resort while he gives the driver directions.  As York settles back into the seat next to her and she reaches for his hand again.  As he takes hers, she feels something hard against her fingers, glances down and stiffens.  Clearly visible on his hand is another twisted metal ring, a twin to the one she is hiding in her bag. Something her chest catches painfully and she leans on his shoulder, trying to calm her racing heart. He couldn't easily see her on this side anyway, but she still hides, turning her face to rest against him.  

York thumbs a hickey on his collarbone - one of a dozen-odd scattered over his body. He knows Carolina must have noticed the ring, but part of him feels defiant about it. She may want to forget or hide this, but he doesn't. For as long as he can, he wants to wear these reminders that they're together.

“God, I hope I don't throw up on the Pelican,” he laments, aching to lean his head against the cool glass but refusing on the basis of his training. “How’re you holding up, sweetheart?”

“Dunno.”  On the physical side, her headache is keeping a steady drumbeat behind her eyes, and she realizes she should have forced down a glass of water or something before they left.  The car seems to be hitting every single rock on this godforsaken planet, and she is holding onto her temper by a thread.  

But at the same time, she's with him.  And after months of worry, and fear and grief, after long absences and hospital visits, after misunderstandings and fights, here they are -- waking together straight into a dream of what the future could be, alone and in love, wedding rings on their fingers.  

The enormity of that sinks in and she clasps his hand tighter, heart sinking as she realizes that as this dream comes to a close, there is another after it, and another - she is filled with dreams, and hopes and  _ plans _ .  She dares to look up at him and she aches with the need to follow through, bring every one of them to life, but with that need comes bone deep dread, knowing that at any time everything could all be cut dead with a single bullet.  She spent all these years refusing to look ahead, refusing to plan, so that if that bullet ever came, she only had her life to lose, so she wouldn't be forced to watch her dreams bleed out as she did.  Or worse now, watching them die with him.  

It's too much, it's all too much - the sweet and the bitter overwhelm her and as she buries her face against him, she hopes he can't feel her tears wetting his shirt.

But he does.

York can guess the direction her thoughts are taking her, and it wrenches his heart to know that he's the cause of it. He's her weak point, the flaw in her otherwise perfect armor, and it's hard to be both sorry and not regret a thing. Life is full of contradictions, he can imagine Delta telling him, and he lowers his shoulder to keep her out of the rear view mirror.

“Man, I was expecting the beach to be more crowded, but it really was perfect. The blue sands kind of threw me off, especially when I kept finding it in my swimsuit, but--”

It's the only privacy he can give her, the only solace; direct the focus to himself and give Carolina the dignity to ache in peace without concern of a nosy driver. Too easy for him to fall into the role of the shield to her sword, and too soon to have to wear that mantle of responsibility. But he keeps talking and keeps smiling the entire drive, even as the hand in hers tightens around her as though they’ll never have to let go.

She knows what he is doing. The too-light voice, the small talk, the way his body curves so subtly around hers, comforting and protective.  She knows and she loves him for it.  Her heart lifts and as they approach the airfield, she finds herself running her thumb along his ring.  She gives his hand a squeeze and lets go as the cab pulls to the curb, only waiting for York to pay the driver before hustling him out.

His gaze meets hers in those vulnerable seconds, when he’s felt her gentle press against the ring and how much that subtle acknowledgement meant to him is still on his face, not yet wiped away and replaced with the cavalier mask he so often wears. A moment of understanding, maybe, but he's already turning his head to smile at the driver, already covertly slipping off the ring, already at the Pelican. The end, so soon it ambushed them, and he gives Carolina one last look.

As she looks up at him she wishes she had given him one last kiss in the cab.  She wishes she’d have said, “I love you”, and heard him say it just one more time.  Not that they won't kiss again, not that she will never hear those words from his lips and hers, but here, for just a little while, they meant something else, something more.  At first there seems to be the same regret mirrored on York’s eyes, but as he smiles it is replaced with something softer.  He reaches for her hand to help her board, and as she takes his, she feels his thumb glide over where her ring used to be.  He doesn't look at her again as they climb the ramp, but she can hear him humming softly to himself and she realized that maybe that new meaning wouldn't be lost after all. She could see it in him now, feel it in herself, accompanying them onto the ship.  That meaning, those memories are following them home and now everything changes.

 


End file.
